Somali militants celebrate victory over warlords

They wave their Kalashnikovs and grenade launchers, proclaiming that they are the new Mujahadeen. Their leaders talk international power politics while imposing strict Sharia laws. Yet some of the fighters do not want to be photographed, in case they want to emigrate to the West should events in Mogadishu take a turn for the worst. There are also tales of al-Qaida moving in the shadows inside Somalia's capital, a city now in ruins, and a potent symbol of a failure of US foreign policy. The blasted buildings and shattered streets, the burnt and looted factories, the lack of any kind of infrastructure and the ever-present men with guns are the devastating legacy of a failed US intervention more than a decade ago. Now Somalia, a country the West subsequently chose to forget, is the sudden recipient of frantic attention following the resounding victory of Islamic extremist forces over US-backed warlords after months of fighting. President George W. Bush has declared he will not tolerate Somalia becoming a Taliban-style Afghanistan. Neighboring states are pouring in money and arms. The United Nations and aid agencies are setting up emergency programs. Somalia is now the subject of a New York summit. Yet in Mogadishu, the focus of so much fevered international analysis and speculation from the outside, there is a marked absence of foreign diplomats, aid workers or statesmen to gauge what is really happening. Here among the streets, shattered and blasted by years of lawlessness, there is a momentary respite from the fighting, especially after the recent bout of ferocious violence. Shops are opening and families venturing out of their homes. But no one believes that peace is about to break out. "We have learned not to believe that good things will happen to us. I have seen too many people killed for that," said 28-year-old Hassina Ali, walking heavily laden with groceries back to her home, stumbling in the hijab, which has recently become the standard dress for women in Mogadishu and which she was still getting used to. "In the last days of fighting my sister was killed, she died while I was holding her. We fled outside the city. We spoke to aid workers in Merka where we fled, but they had no idea what was going on in Mogadishu. We came back, but we do not know what to do. We have no future." There is also little food, water or power; some convoys are getting through, but Mogadishu is still largely cut off. Hundreds were killed and injured, especially in the past few weeks. Most of the destruction inflicted in the latest bout of fighting has been through the use of anti-aircraft artillery and mortars in an urban landscape of dense and crumbling housing. The pulverizing effect of such concentrated firepower can be seen throughout the city–homes collapsed and solitary walls sticking out like jagged teeth in front of rubble. There is an acute shortage of medicine, but now at least patients are freer to move around and seek treatment in the filthy, bloodstained corridors of hospitals. "My mother was trapped in our house for four days with bad injuries and broken bones," said Mohammed Khalid, a 47-year-old carpenter angrily jabbing his finger. "We have now taken her to a hospital; we used a cart for that. But there is no medicine." What happened in Mogadishu has, local people say, much more to do with Islamic fundamentalists, clan chiefs and the business community united in an alliance of convenience against the depredations of warlords the US has backed. The business leaders who have bankrolled the Islamic radicals say they did so to get a modicum of stability. They also described how they secretly met with US officials in Djibouti less than three months ago to argue that an Islamic extremist takeover could be averted if the US stopped its deeply unpopular support for the warlords. They were snubbed and, for now, the Islamic militants are triumphant. Their militias parade through the muddy pot-holed roads in their gun-mounted four-wheel drives, declaring their intention to take the jihad to the rest of Somalia and beyond the Horn of Africa. They are a mixed bunch, many in their teens or just past that, their fedayeen scarves and bandoliers of ammunition incongruous against bright T-shirts, slacks and rubber sandals. The constant theme is that they joined the militants because of warlord corruption and a sense of Somalian nationalism. There is also simmering anger about the "disappeared" men abducted by militias who have subsequently turned up in Guantánamo Bay and Bagram air base in Afghanistan. Abdul Fadih Ali Ahmed, a member of the bodyguard of Sheikh Ahmed Sharif, the spiritual leader of the Islamic fundamentalist movement there, said: "My older brother was killed in the fighting between the warlords; he was just 30-years-old. I know so many who suffered so much. No one was doing anything to stop them. I was also angry that they were kidnapping good Muslims, holy men, and selling them to the Americans. "I felt that as a Muslim myself I must do something about it. I was injured in the fighting of the last few days, but I was so happy when we finally won." Standing beside his Toyota "technical," clutching a machine gun almost as big as himself, Ibrahim Daoud Mohammed lowered the red-checked scarf around his youthful, 17-year-old face. "I took part in the fighting in north Mogadishu and I was among the first when we made the push to the south. I killed the enemy," he said. "My family is proud of me because I was fighting for my country. I do not know anything about Afghanistan and Iraq; the warlords here were corrupt and they were supported by foreigners. I do not want to continue fighting forever. I want to have a good job and a family, but for now we must continue."